


An exercise of sorts

by CaptainDog



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bondage, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-07
Updated: 2011-12-07
Packaged: 2017-10-27 01:19:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/290003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainDog/pseuds/CaptainDog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John comes home to find Sherlock in a rather odd position, in need of a little assistance</p>
            </blockquote>





	An exercise of sorts

I walk into the flat and am immediately suspicious of the silence. I set down the bag of shopping in the kitchen and look about. Where is Sherlock?

“Sherlock?” I call, hoping he's not been kidnapped or worse.

“John. Bedroom.” His voice is faint behind the door. Bedroom? “Now, if you wouldn't mind.”

I tentatively push the door of the room open. I've never been in here, but am frankly unsurprised at the mess. Clothes, books, and miscellaneous objects are strewn everywhere. It's no wonder Sherlock doesn't get much sleep with his bed in THAT state. No, the state of the room is not what surprises me, it's the state of my flatmate. He's...well, he's sitting in a chair, no doubt taken from the kitchen. 

“Sherlock...why are you tied to the chair?”

“Exercise. I'd appreciate your help.” I move forward with the intention of untying him.

“No, don't liberate me. I need your help with more bondage.”

“More...? Sherlock, what the hell is the meaning of this?”

“As I said, an exercise.” He glares at me with those intense eyes. “Blindfold me, would you?”

“By 'what the hell is the meaning of this' I meant why?”

“Isn't it obvious? I need to practise my reactions to being restrained in such a way. Normally I'd be gagged, but I need to give you instructions. Perhaps my supposed captors will need information from me, and so haven't resorted to the gag. Do keep up, John.”

This is feeling more and more like some strange bondage role play. I pinch the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger. The worst part is; I would really fucking love to do this. It's something that's been a feature of more than one of my fantasies. Fuck.

“R-right. What do you...oh, the blindfold.” I pull a piece of cloth from his disheveled bed. I hesitate as I walk towards him.

“Hurry up, John.”

“Right.” I say and tentatively wrap the dark cloth over his face.

“No need to be bashful, John. Just get on with it.” I bite my lip to keep from saying 'right' again. I glance at his face to make sure that the blindfold is positioned correctly before tightening the knot.

“Now what?” I ask.

“I think it would be a bit much to ask for you simulate torture, so you're going to time my escape.”

“O-kaaaay. Got my phone.” I pull my phone out and open the stopwatch feature. “Tell me when to start it, I guess.”

“Now.”

At first he doesn't move much, as if he's scoping out the position of the ropes. Then he twists an arm, and suddenly he's out. It takes him a matter of seconds to get the ropes binding his feet off. He pulls the blindfold up.

“Twenty seconds. Isn't that a bit rigged?” I ask. Where is this going, John? Why are you talking? “I mean, you tied the ropes yourself, so you know how to get out of them.” Really, why am I talking? I should kick myself.

“I used the typical knot for such things. Unlikely that a captor would use a different knot. I am all for continuing the experiment, however, if you'd like to try your hand at a different knot.”

“Um, okay.” I pause. “No, not okay. Absolutely not. I need some tea.” I turn to leave.

“Hang on, John.” He's grabbed my wrist. I stop and look at him warily.

“I think you're on to something. Tie me up again, would you?”

“Didn't I just say 'no'?”

“I heard you, but I'm asking again with the expectation that your answer has changed.” I sigh. I don't even know how to argue with him. It's like there's a block in my brain. I take the rope from him and hesitate before reaching forward again. I wrap the ropes a few times around his torso – I hold my breath when my face gets close to his chest – and tie his hands behind his back. I tie each ankle to a leg of the chair. I step back. He twists a bit, probably surveying how I've done.

“Well done. One would think you'd done this before. Blindfold.” I pull the blindfold back down over his eyes and make sure that it's tight enough.

“Stopwatch at the ready.” I say.

“Go.” he says. Do I detect a bit of constriction in his voice? He's still again, but this time I can see his fingers working at the knot, feeling for the loose ends. And then he jerks violently. He lets out a little gasp as he pulls at the knot holding his arms.

“What...kind of knot did you use?”

“If I told you, that would be cheating.” I say. I'm surprised at how much fun I'm finding this. A little disgusted. I sound like Moriarty. Sherlock grins, and I'm surprised further. He pulls some more. It looks as though he's trying to dislocate his shoulder. Come to think of it, he probably is. Shit. I jump forward, drop my phone, and grab his arms.

“What are you doing, John?”

“Keeping you from hurting yourself. I don't want to have to treat a broken arm”

“Dislocated, actually.”

“Yes, I'm aware. I'm untying you now. I'm sure that given an actual hostage situation you would be able to get out, but I'm not taking the risk right now.” He frowns.

“I'm not sure that dislocation would work, actually. You've got me pretty good.” That is surprising.

“Really? Well. I'll just untie you then.”

“Not yet, I want to keep working. Take off the blindfold, though.” As I reach up to remove the cloth, it occurs to me that I'm straddling his lap. Not good. His gaze catches mine. He knows what I've just realised.

“Er...” I pull back, trying to straighten up.

“Hang on, John.” I freeze, still halfway over his thighs. He's staring at me, pupils...dilated? Surely it's not that dark in here, surely it's because of the blindfold...no. A quick glance downwards proves otherwise.

“I find myself in another predicament, John. I require your assistance.” His eyes flick down and then return. “Evidence would suggest that you are not opposed to this.”

“Um, evidence would be wrong.” I back away, painfully aware of the hardness in my jeans.

“Please, John. I'm _desperate._ ” His expression would put porn stars to shame. 

“Who are you and what have you done with my flatmate? This is not like you, Sherlock. Are you having me on?”

“While 'having you on' sounds very appealing, I assure you that I'm feeling quite myself. Although I do admit to playing up the situation a bit. Isn't it more fun this way?” I gape. I take another step back.

“John, hurry.” He twists in the chair, causing the fabric of his trousers to stretch further over his crotch. He pulls his head back to expose his throat and a good portion of his chest. When did those buttons get undone? “I need it now, John.” I love the way he says 'John', but I also hate it. I don't think I can say 'no' now. I step forward again.

“Yes, that's it, John. Come closer, come to me, come for me.”

“Oh, fuck.” I groan and lunge forward. I can't handle this anymore, I need to touch him. He laughs as my hands reach his neck and thigh. It's a very Sherlock laugh. It's reassuring. I plant a kiss on his lips, but move to his pale throat. I feel a tremor in it as I bite down. He gasps and bucks forward, his hips momentarily crushing into mine. Fuck.

He's pushing his face into my hair, kissing everywhere he can get at. I rub my palms over his shoulders, rolled forward due to the angle of his arms behind the chair. I stroke down his ribs and grip at his hips. He inches into my hands as far as he can manage.

“Don't hurt yourself.” I gasp. He gives me a wry smile.

“Wouldn't that make it more fun?” I stop short.

“No. Not at all. I don't get off on pain. You should know that.” He shrugs.

“I suspected. Bondage seems to be quite...”

“Quite.” I say and kiss him again. I try to pour my emotions into the kiss, but of course kisses are not telepathy. I settle for moaning into his mouth and thrusting my tongue deep. He sucks and plunges back, exploring my own mouth. He groans, a low rumble that reminds me of a feral cat, and presses his hips up and out again. It makes it easier to slip my hands inward to the bulge in his jeans. Oh fuck, he's wearing those jeans. It almost seems a shame to remove them, but the thought of what's underneath...

I'm a bit proud of how steady my hands are as kneel down to pop his button free and take care of his zip. His erect penis springs free; he's not wearing pants. I glance up at his smug face.

“You bastard. You _knew_.” I murmur. He grins before jerking forward, bringing his cock in contact with my cheek. Enough talk. I take it into my mouth and run my tongue along the glans. He groans when my tongue swirls around the head. I let my face sink forward, taking him as far as I can. 

“J-ohn.” The 'j' syllable is drawn out in a gasp. I hum around him, eliciting another deep groan. I continue to move my head, licking and sucking along his cock. His hips twitch, pushing himself further into my mouth. I glance up and see that his head is thrown back, his mouth open. His breath comes in desperate gasps. I must have paused, because he looks down again.

“D-don't stop!” I can't resist pulling off and straddling his thighs to kiss him. I move my hand to his cock instead and stroke a steady pace.

“What about you?” he whispers between kisses.

“Don't worry about it.” I say. “We can take care of that later.” I dive in, kissing a line from his mouth, along his jaw, to the artery in his neck. I bite down, enough to make him gasp. The gasp is followed by a moan.

“John. John, I'm almost-”

I bite another spot, lower down, and quicken my pace on his cock. He moans, and warm semen coats my hand. He trembles under me, panting through his orgasm. I kiss his forehead. He takes my head in his hands and presses his lips against mine, slowly, languorously. It takes me a moment to realise what this means.

“Sherlock...”

“Yes?” His voice is incredibly low, satisfied.

“How long have you been untied?” He chuckles into my neck.

“Since the blindfold came off.”

 


End file.
